Afterglow, This Is Not
by Verdot
Summary: There are many kinds of intimacy. Some more surprising than others. A young Turk and his older but not always wiser partner. Cellos and churches. Shounen-ai, not mushy or porny. Veld/Vincent.


I know what you're thinking. OMG HOW COULD YOU? SLASH IS WRONG!

Well to be frank with you people, I ain't the straightest gal out there. And I don't write slash at times because it's "omg teh bishie smex". Nor do I even feel that certain characters HAVE to be gay or straight or whatever. I simply love ALL aspects of how these two are around each other. So if there's a sexual undertone somewhere, it's there. Deal with it.

The underlying message of this fic isn't actually about sex. Or making guys girly (which I think I avoid pretty darn well). Or making you go "ewww, that's gross!". Some people are just... there's something about them.

So I decided to throw this to the wolves. It's one of my favorites. Go ahead and flame me. But I suggest you read it first before you do. Don't just look at the pairing. Because that is full of dumb.

---

There were several things that Veld kept to himself. Like his impeccably neat apartment, his ability to play cello and the occasional jazz bass, and his hoards of books on Wutain war history and culture. Those weren't really so surprising considering his professional and perfectionist personality. Maybe not the cello so much, that was almost a surprise.

The real surprise was that he occasionally went to church. And he _believed_.

Vincent felt a little strange standing in his apartment. Neither of them were acknowledging anything in regards to their situation. There was no... relationship, as some might be apt to say. The fact that he was in the other man's apartment was almost professional. They were just picking up some stuff before a mission, to a church of all places.

That was when Veld admitted he went there, on his own time, every once in a while. When Vincent posed the question of belief, the answer was direct and honest. He was almost taken aback, considering he didn't really believe in anything except that grand ethereal purpose of his.

Veld emerged from the back parts of his apartment then, and he could almost feel the relief of not standing around waiting anymore. They had a few... encounters now, usually his fault, as he figured out for all the power and authority that Veld commanded, he was hardly aggressive. Hardly submissive either.

Vincent had to supress a smirk at that.

"So you go to church and play cello. Hardly becoming for a Turk, you know."

"I never asked you. Not like your opinion matters anyway."

Veld still yelled at him. In fact, he would often yell even more so if given the chance. Vincent enjoyed the attention, though he would never admit it openly. Then again, he would never admit anything about his team leader openly. They weren't like that. The paired missions were completely coincidental too, as the chief had determined that if they weren't trying to kill each other, they worked pretty damn well together.

Vincent also had to supress a smirk about that too.

"It's after mass, so there should only be dirty dealings in there. Don't be confused by clergy." He rattled off the instructions like a drill master while locking the door. Vincent always wondered how he managed to memorize the instructions so well, but occasionally get the date wrong.

"Kill everything, clean up, go home?"

"Well, basically. You really need to learn procedure one of these days."

"I get the job done, do I not?"

The short walk to the church was silent. Veld was always so focused on missions, and it would irritate Vincent if it weren't so integral to the other man's personality. Besides, it made for a challenge to see what he could do to break that focus, if only for a moment.

Once inside the building, it was pretty obvious why there were drug deals going on at all. The place was a dump, with a few holes in the wooden floor, and things hanging about at odd jagged angles. The targets hadn't become aware of their presence, and with a nod, Vincent took out the leader, gun nicely silenced.

He loved his job sometimes.

Veld was always so mechanical when he fired. Vincent kept him in the corner of his vision during the barrage, seeing no wince or smile or any expression on the man's face. But then, he never expressed things with his mouth, other than a frown. It was so quiet in his head when he was shooting, like a mute button on the world...

"Valentine! You there? I'm going to check out the back." Veld looked tired, his eyelids betraying what might or might not have been exhaustion. But it wasn't physical exhaustion, Vincent knew that he could stay awake for three days and work just fine. It was hard to figure out the pyschology of the man sometimes.

Vincent followed him, no more than two steps behind. Veld hated when he did that, he was always slightly paranoid with the gun at his back syndrome. It didn't help that he would sometimes do just that. But then, encounter number three was a direct result of playing with Veld's insecurities.

Empty. It was empty and still as Veld's hands. The shaking he had noticed months ago only cropped up when something went wrong. Everyone was dead and they were standing in a church. Of course he was calm.

They didn't see the little one. Vincent was too busy leaning over Veld's shoulder and pestering him, and Veld was too busy trying to get him to stop. Vincent almost didn't feel the stab through his calf either, but Veld did. His eyes darted about wildly until he saw it.

The little girl with the knife, the snarl on her face, the hatred in her eyes.

Veld took the shot, she wasn't far, and despite not being the wildly talented prodigy that Vincent was, he did not miss often. It was silent when it happened, it made Vincent numb in three of his senses for a moment. When the girl was down, when the movement stopped, he started to feel again.

The first thing he felt was the material of Veld's jacket, and it surprised him that he had grabbed onto it admist the momentary confusion. Then he watched as Veld blinked back something unreadable and vaguely human. It wasn't until he'd fully regained all senses of the room and everything around him that he felt the sting of the gash on his leg. The little brat had gotten it in deep.

"...Are you alright?"

"Fucking hell, little bitch stabbed me a good one."

"You're fine then."

"Jerk."

He could walk on it, and it would most likely have to be cleaned right away. He watched Veld's hands for the shake, and surprisingly found none. He feigned his leg giving and there was a shoulder under his arm immediately. It was a dirty trick, but there was something rather interesting to the behavior of his superior. He'd known for a long time that he was damn near invicible when the other man was around. Whether he knew it or not, he'd been protecting him. He was protecting him.

"If you're faking, I'm going to shoot you. You weigh more than me."

"Why would I _ever_ fake anything? I am completely honest, all the time."

"Are you one of those weirdos that are turned on by violence or something?"

Lean in next to the ear. "Would you like me to be?"

"You're damn good at whore talk, kid. Easy for me to ignore."

Confessional booths were wonderful things. So were ties, they made for easy pulling of superiors into said booths. Veld was wrong though, it wasn't violence so much... violence was so natural that he never thought much of it. It was quite simple, really, what had prompted this encounter.

It was the look the Veld blinked away. It was how Vincent was bleeding profusely. It was the momentarily feeling of _something_. Just... something other than purpose or violence. No gun in the hand, and then no suit...

He slept on the couch, that night, after Veld grumbled about him going home injured and attracting beasts or some such nonsense. He didn't go to sleep right away, but spent a good portion of the night taking in the detail of Veld's apartment and especially that cello... it still surprised him that the man had any interest in something not related to weaponry.

He couldn't go in the bedroom, though. No, they weren't like that, so he didn't want to familiarize himself with it. Even after he determined that Veld had the most uncomfortable couch in existence. And the ugliest carpet. The books were nice, though...

He wondered briefly if he could drag Veld to hell with him, when it was all said and done. Eternal torment or whatever it was that they believed would be more interesting if he in turn had someone to torment. Maybe he just had to get it all in now, he could see Veld repenting everything they ever did on the job or not and getting a pardon into heaven for intent.

He thought about this too much. It was early into the morning and they still had to be in the office tomorrow. Would he borrow a suit and pretend like he had a right to be here or...

"Can you stop muttering and let me sleep? Making a racket out there..."

"You have the most uncomfortable couch I have had the torment of laying on."

"Then sleep on the floor. You have no imagination."

"...You think I can ever hear you play that instrument?"

"You're not invading my apartment too, you know. You're already in my office too much—"

"The cello. I will leave you alone if you play that for me sometime."

"Promise?"

"No."

Veld sat down in a chair across from him, glaring and his hair even messier than usual. The question of whether the man wore anything other than a suit was answered right then, judging by the t-shirt, which was disturbingly unwrinkled, the loose pants, and the shoeless but not sockless feet. It was oddly intimate, seeing him like that, and Vincent hoped that he would go back to that back bedroom soon...

He turned a lamp on, and pulled the large instrument to him. Vincent wasn't really surprised that Veld would honor his request so soon; the man wanted his sleep, and he had become quite good at being annoying.

"You say a word of this to anyone and I'm hanging you by that necktie and shooting you."

He smirked. Veld glared at him over sheet music, until he pulled the bow across the string and ceased being his somewhat grouchy superior. Oh, he should never have become a Turk, this man. He wasn't really a musician either... but he looked his age for once, and Vincent remembered why the secretaries were so polite to the man.

When he woke up, Veld was already back in the suit and making coffee. He hadn't even realized that he had fallen asleep, let alone stopped hearing the music. There was a hollow feeling to the apartment, and the cello in the corner smirked at him like it knew a secret.

Vincent determined then that he would avoid staying over next time. Maybe he was spending a little too much time with the man...

"You're going to be late, lazy ass."

"I cannot help it that your music puts me to sleep."

...no. They just had to be careful, that was all. This wasn't a relationship or whatever people called it these days. Vincent had just found someone lonely and interesting enough to bother with for more than a one night fuck. He was doing the man a favor, if nothing else.

If only that cello would stop smirking at him, it might be a good morning.


End file.
